Longing
by Aurilia
Summary: A peak into the life of Harry Potter and Severus Snape long after the fall of Voldemort. Unrequited love and Harry recuperating in Saint Mungo's. SSHP
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything in the HP Universe. No money is being made from the publication of this fic.

* * *

**Longing**

The most irritating experience on the planet is listening on a telephone line to someone breathing. Puffs of air obscenely whispering as they are first drawn in, and then blown out. A creepy, disgustingly unsettling shiver hissing and crawling down the ear canal like a living thing. An auditory basilisk intent upon first petrifying, then consuming the brain. This sound is more aggravating than the proverbial nails-on-a-chalkboard, not for the sound, itself, as is with the screech of the blackboard, but for what it leads one to conclude about the person with whom they are conversing.

A person who would so act on a telephone call is either smelling the receiver or breathing through their mouth, neither of which is proper telephone etiquette. The first option brings to mind someone with such lackluster wit that they probably would not know how to hail a taxicab if their life depended on the act. A person whose mentality would be so sufficiently lacking that you must have been the one to call them, as they would obviously not be able to instigate the call themselves. The second option, a mouth-breather. Enough said.

Unfortunately, such a person is now trying to talk to me. I have not been able to process a single thing he has said, as distracted and disgusted as I am about his breathing. I understand that this is likely to be Ronald Weasley, as few others know to call this number to reach me. It was also his number that showed on the caller-identification. After the fourth gibbering inanity, I interrupt him. "Weasley?" There is a strangled babbling on the other end of the connection. I sigh. "Ronald?"

There is finally an intelligible response from the person on the other end. "Harry's been hurt." An interruption of babbling causing a queasy feeling to unfurl from my stomach, the basilisk of telephone-amplified breathing beginning to feast on my rapidly diminishing powers of thought.

"Where? What?" The single-word questions an affront to my carefully groomed powers of communication.

Through the dry scaling claws that drag through my ears, I manage to decipher a location.

Saint Mungo's.

* * *

Another day, another hospital. Damn. I was hoping that I'd wake up at home today, but no. Oh, well. I will admit it's been almost three years since I was hurt bad enough to have to be treated at a hospital. Even so, though, I've spent entirely too much time in white rooms that stink of antiseptic and floor-polish. I try to open my eyes to find that there is something keeping them closed. I wince as my right arm sings in pain when I try to move it, so I use my left and find that there are bandages covering my eyes. I wonder if that last curse Malfoy sent my way has blinded me. I hope not. I like my sight, especially since I got rid of the glasses when I turned eighteen. 

If my sight is gone, though, I'll adapt. I won't be able to be an Auror anymore, though. The thought stings. Thirty-five is time to start thinking about retirement, anyway. Almost twenty-five years is long enough to be hunting dark wizards and witches, don't you think? I wonder what I'm to do with myself if I am blind. I suppose I can always take up writing. I chuckle a little, the sound is morose and hurts my throat. I wonder how long I've been unconscious.

I jump a little when a voice addresses me, "Harry?"

"Yeah. Who's there?" I cough a little as my voice slowly works its way back into the habit of working.

"It's Hermione." I feel something cool press into my lips just before the faint scent of water hits me. "Here, drink." I take a couple of greedy swallows and cough some more.

"Did anyone get the plate number of the truck that hit me?" I smile, though I know it probably looks more like a grimace. I'm sure the same expression is mirrored on Hermione's face.

"Lucius is back in Azkaban. You've been out of it for the better part of three days, this time."

"Good. And three days? Hell. I know Shacklebolt was telling me I needed a vacation, but I doubt this is what he meant." I laugh a little. This time I don't cough. After a few moments of silence, I finally ask, "How bad is it?"

I hear Hermione take a little breath and I know in that moment it's bad. "Malfoy's hex has fried most of your nerves. You're making remarkable progress, but we don't know when or even if you'll make a full recovery." There was a pause and an almost inaudible sniffle. "I'm sorry, Harry."

"What for?" I ask. I know, though, what she'll say next.

"For not being good enough to fix this for you."

"Don't worry about it, Hermione. Not even you know everything. When will everyone else be by?" My question sounds over-eager even to my own ears.

"Ron will be by this afternoon after he finishes up at Gringotts. That roommate of yours hasn't left since you were brought in. I finally had to put a sleeping draught in his coffee. He should wake in an hour or two."

I smile. "Yeah. He always did worry too much."

There's the sound of a clearing throat. "I believe you misjudged the draught, Healer Weasley. Though, it is to be expected. It isn't as if you had asked if I had a tolerance for sleeping potions."

"Leave her be, git." I tease.

"Perhaps I should be going…" I can almost hear the blush in Hermione's voice. I don't know why she acts like that around us. It isn't as if we're dating. Hell, we don't see each other that way. We're just friends. I've told her this thousands of times, yet I don't think she believes me.

There is the sound of a door closing. I feel a hand brush my own. "Why do you keep insisting on these situations, Potter?"

"What situations? Doing my job? Or taking paid-time off in the hospital?" I grin.

"Placing yourself in danger time and again, rushing in without thinking…" he trailed off.

I sigh. "You know I don't really have a choice. I have to help people, just like you have to be sarcastic. It's a part of who I am. Though, if it makes you feel better, I am considering retiring from the field. Perhaps take over a class of recruits or two."

"Perhaps that would be best, Potter." I can hear the hope behind the sarcasm.

* * *

I spend three weeks watching him slowly recover whilst surrounded by white. I wonder if he knows why I still stay with him, even though the terms of the probationary period ended four years ago. When I speak with him, I know he doesn't realize. It is better that way. Safer for both of us. This way we may remain friends, if nothing more. 

He, I know, has probably never thought of me as anything other than his friend and roommate for a long time. There was a period of five years where I was his charge and responsibility, penance for being a Death Eater, but that time is over. Somewhere between that first day, where he warded me in his house, and the last day of the probation, where he returned me to my wand, I had fallen for him. It took me the better part of three years to admit it to myself. I know I will never be able to tell him.

He's still not over Ginny. Anyone that knows him knows this. They married shortly after the fall of the Dark Lord. That had been on New Year's Eve, 1999. We began the new millennium with hope that all would be well in the world for a while. And it was. Harry married Ginny that summer. It was June. By the end of August, I was serving my probationary sentence with them. Ginny found out she was pregnant in November. There were complications, and she and the child – Harry named him Jonathan – died the following June. It was on their first anniversary.

To my knowledge, he hasn't been with anyone since. Every now and then, usually once a year or so, he'll go on a blind date to appease Hermione, but his heart isn't in it. He always comes home alone. I wish I could offer him some comfort. He blames himself for her death, as well as the deaths of so many others. I just wish I could make him see that it isn't his fault at all. There was no fault in Ginny and Jonathan's deaths. It just happened.

It hurts me to see him hurt.

But I will always be here for him, in whatever capacity he'll have me.

* * *

**A/N:** Don't quite know where that came from. Doesn't matter though. I think it's one of my better efforts to date. Please let me know what you think! 

July 15, 2007 : Chapter edited to account for a couple of grammar issues not previously caught.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything in the HP Universe. No money is being made from the publication of this fic. Nor do I own the nursery rhyme quoted herein.

* * *

**Longing, Part Two**

I'm finally home. After a _very_ long month of painful nights and exhausting days, I'm home at last.

I hope Severus was told. I'd hate to interrupt something important and have to pay to rebuild the lab. Again.

Hermione offered to walk me home, but I asked her not to. I mean, I have to get used to this. I will get used to this. Hell, if I say it enough, I'll believe it, right?

I use the two newest additions to my person to find the front gate. A long, white-tipped cane lets me know when I found the fence. The other cane helps support my right side. The healers still don't know if I'll ever have full use of it again. The last hex Lucius Malfoy hit me with caused too much damage to be completely healed. Healer Wexell said that now all I could do was hope.

Ha-ha-bloody-ha. Hope. What is that? I don't think I remember any more. Hope used to be daydreaming about the defeat of Voldemort. Hope used to be finding quiet corners of Hogwarts in which to snog Ginny. Hope used to be coming home to Ginny. But Ginny's gone. Her red hair and fiery temper and shockingly beautiful eyes and… Gone. I have to take a deep breath and refocus on locating the gate to my yard.

After what has to be hours, I locate it. From the gate, it's a mere twenty paces to the first step of the front porch. I ascend the three stairs and locate the wicker rocking chair, sinking thankfully onto its cushion. I sigh.

"Long day?"

I jump and turn toward the sound. "Yeah."

I hear Severus' thick chuckle. "I can imagine. Are you hungry?"

I shake my head. "Not really. What time is it?"

"Early, still." There's a click and I know he's checking his pocket watch. "Only noon. I wasn't expecting you until later."

"Sorry. I wasn't about to stick around Saint Mungo's longer than absolutely necessary. I didn't interrupt anything important, did I?"

"No. However, I was thinking –"

"How dangerous. You start thinking and suddenly potions students everywhere scream in terror."

"Hush, you!" I feel a light smack on my left shoulder.

I smile. "Anyway, you were saying?"

"Now, I don't want to get your hopes up or anything of the sort –"

"Perish the thought." Another light smack.

"I would like to see if I can come up with a cure for your… current condition. That is, with your permission."

"You're hardly my charge, anymore, Severus. I doubt you'll be able to do anything, but hell. Why not? Go ahead and try. Since you're not teaching anymore, you seem to be at a loss at to what to do with yourself." I smirk. "You must be between projects, if you're looking to cure _me_."

I can imagine the incredulous look on his face as he smirks at me. "Perhaps I shouldn't bother."

"I didn't say that. I just said that you must be getting bored."

There's the slight rasp of skin on a stubbly chin. "Harry…"

"That is my name."

"Quit it, brat. I mean it. I would like to try."

I sigh and use the walking-cane to stand. "You're welcome to try, but excuse me if I decide not to hope for miracles." I feel a hand at my elbow. I sigh yet again. "I'm sure I can find my bedroom on my own, Severus."

"I've no doubt of that. However, I did take a shipment of ingredients not an hour before you arrived, and I've not yet put everything away." He leads me to the front door.

"Ah, Severus, you wound me. Nothing more important in your life than potions," I tease. I am confused as he stiffens for a moment. I disregard it as he leads me to the stairs and around numerous boxes. "Merlin, Severus, just _how many_ ingredients did you order?"

"Several thousand."

I know my jaw drops in shock. "Thousand?" I mutter weakly.

"I am not, as you assumed, 'between projects.' I've several that need experimenting with, and have run out of options on quite a few, using only the ingredients I keep in stock."

I slowly feel my way to the first stair. "Why not just order them as needed?"

I can almost _hear_ his eyebrow arching just _so_. "I was given a discount on shipping this way, and it isn't like I've not got the storage space."

I laugh a little and move at a snail's pace up the steps.

* * *

It takes me six hours to catalog and store the new ingredients in my laboratory. All that time, my mind was barely on-task. I nearly mislabel the doxy wing joints. Twice. "Severus, snap out of it! You knew what his injuries were. It is not as if you expected anything less than that! But that is the case, is it not? You expected _more_. You expected him to pull off another miracle and escape relatively unscathed, yet again. No one's luck holds that well, and you damn well know it." I shake my head and decide it is time for something to eat. It isn't a good sign when I commence talking to myself.

I withdraw to the kitchen and make a mental note to purchase a house elf at the earliest opportunity. There are days I won't be home, and I can hardly trust Harry to be able to craft his own supper. He was almost hopeless in the kitchen _before_ he was hexed. I'll be pickled and used in my own potions before I let him anywhere near the hob in his current state. Once I've my dinner crafted, I sit and quickly eat. I then gather a tray together for Harry.

I find, upon entering his room, that he has fallen asleep. I set a stasis charm on the tray and spend a moment watching him. It is in the peace of sleep, undisturbed from dreams or nightmares, that I can truly see how much the war has weighed on him. Wrapped in sleep, the perpetual crease between his brows has smoothed out and he looks ten years younger.

I spend too much time watching him sleep. I shake my head and head back to my lab. I'd leave him a note, but how would he read it? There's an uncomfortable pressure behind my eyes before I will it away. Tears solve nothing. Unless they're from a phoenix. Hmm… I wonder if an infusion of phoenix tears might be the key…

Phoenix tears and aloe vera and what else? Clear quartz, spring water, unicorn hair. No, unicorn hair won't work; his wand has a phoenix tail-feather. Echinacea? Maybe. Definitely willow. Which willow, though? White? Red? Green? Weeping? Whomping? I'll need to work out the arithmancy to see which would work best.

Queen Anne's Lace is a definite, but just the root. Perhaps some cannabis. Ginger wouldn't be a bad idea, either. Saint John's Wort, cardamom, anise seed. I work through the majority of my ingredients, taking notes as I go. I am listing all possibilities for Harry's healing potion. Once I have the list completed at the forefront of a brand-new journal, I begin working out arithmanthetical permutations on the quantities I'll need.

It is nearing midnight before I decide to withdraw to bed, yet sleep eludes me. I stare at the canopy of my bed, working out complex theorem in my head. Perhaps I will need to add runic magic.

It is visions of runes and a parade of simmering cauldrons that haunt what little sleep I do get.

My eyes snap open at four in the morning. Unable to sleep further, I dress and descend to my lab once again. Within three hours, I have the arithmancy worked out for more than a dozen powerful healing potions. All of which are at least a hundred times more powerful than what is currently in use. I begin with the one that should take the least time to brew.

A size four copper cauldron boils a liter of fresh spring water. While I wait for the water to boil, I add a half-teaspoon of sea salt and set to grinding cannabis seeds to a thick paste. When the water has heated to its proper temperature, I stir in the paste. I also turn the heat down to a light simmer. The root of Queen Anne's Lace is chopped into precisely equal one-centimeter cubes and added one cube per thirty clockwise stirs with a platinum stirring rod. Next, I shred some echinacea petals and set them to soak in ethyl alcohol. I carefully measure a quarter-cup of aloe gel and add soybean oil to it until I have a slurry of one-cup even. The slurry is thickened into a dough with powdered bicorn horn. I shape it into a rough ball and drop it into the cauldron to dissolve.

In a size sixteen gold cauldron, I melt a tablespoon of white chocolate. Into the chocolate, I stir lavender petals, seven of them. When it has re-hardened, I pop the resulting almost-sphere out of the cauldron and set it aside. Next I shred the cambium layer of willow bark – the white variety – and set it with the other ingredients to be added when the potion indicates its time to do so.

A few moments pass, and a puff of yellow smoke indicates it's time to add the echinacea and alcohol. It gets added petal-by-petal and drop-by-drop until the potion shifts from a putrid yellow to a nearly-clear aquamarine. Now it has to simmer for an hour. I turn the hourglass on the workbench and spend that hour reviewing the arithmancy I spent so much time on. A low buzzer sounds, and I plop in the chunk of chocolate and lavender, watching the potion carefully. It should shift to a dark green color at this time, and if I allow it to cook too long, it will likely burn, in which case I'll have to start over. And that would be problematic, as I have no more white chocolate on hand. Though I am sure Harry probably does, it will no doubt not be of the quality needed for potion-making.

Ah, there it goes. I stir in the willow bark, and the potion glows golden for a moment, then turns blood-red. Perfect. All is going according to the arithmancy. The next part is the hardest, as it requires binding a compound healing rune into the potion. This is the most difficult aspect of creating a powerful healing potion, as any good master would know. It requires a supreme level of control and concentration. After thirty minutes or so of foolish wand-waving, the potion clarifies to light pink. Now, it has to sit overnight. The phoenix tears will be added as the last step, just before bottling.

I check my watch and find that it's nearing ten in the morning and I have to wonder how time got so far away from me. I see that Harry has joined the land of the living and is sitting on the sofa in the lounge. I wonder if he realizes he keeps his eyes closed, even while awake? I must be grateful for that, however; I don't think I could handle him looking towards me with sightless eyes.

"Severus, is that you?" His head turns towards the door. I know he knows it's me. I smile.

"Who else would it be? Are you expecting someone?"

He shrugs. "I was wondering if you had gone out for the day." He sighs and leans back into the cushions. "I think we need to figure out some way for you to leave me messages."

"I was thinking we should get a house elf." I enter the room and sit in the chair set at an angle to the sofa.

Harry grimaces, "Hermione'd kill us both."

"Then perhaps you should ask if she would be willing to spend the rest of _her_ life as our go-between. If I recall correctly, she even has experience with that type of work for you and Mr. Weasley."

"Severus." Harry's tone is chastising. "Seriously, though. Actually, a house elf wouldn't be too bad of an idea. Especially once you start doing tours again."

He is referring to three years ago, when I was asked to speak to several groups on my advancements to the Wolfsbane potion. There were times when I was gone for several days at a stretch.

"I was wondering if Dobby was still around Hogwarts. I know he'd love to come work here."

It is my turn to sigh. I had never liked Dobby. He has a nasty habit of stealing from my potions stores. "I do not know, Harry. Perhaps I should just contact Magical Menagerie and see what they have in stock."

He seems surprised. "They carry house elves at the Magical Menagerie?"

"Of course they do. Where did you think one bought a house elf? Quality Quidditch Supplies? Slug and Jiggers? Or did you perhaps think Madam Rosmerta simply removed them from her-"

"Severus! I really did _not_ need that mental picture." He runs a hand through his hair. "I suppose we ought to get one or two."

I arch my brow, "Two, Harry?"

"Yeah."

"You do realize a house elf is rather expensive."

"I know, but what else am I going to spend my money on?"

He does have a point. Harry is ridiculously rich. Between his inheritance, his percentage of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and the reward he was given upon the defeat of Voldemort, he's more money than he'll ever be able to spend. And that doesn't take into consideration his auror salary or the percentage of every Death Eaters' holdings he's captured. He is most likely more wealthy than the Malfoys were before Voldemort started his bid for world domination.

"Severus?"

"Sorry, my mind was wandering. What did you say?"

"I just said that I'll go get them this afternoon. It's Saturday, right?"

"Yes."

"Good, Hermione had today off, and she can go with me."

I catch myself nodding. "If you wish."

* * *

Hermione was livid that I was buying a house elf, let alone two. And she was downright scary when I left the store with three. She kept talking in these clipped sentences that I knew from school, when she found out that Ron or I hadn't yet done our homework.

"Hermione, please stop being angry. You can ask the elves yourself, they're _happy_ to help. They're even earning wages. And have time off!"

She harrumphed and continued pulling me towards the nearest apparition point. The uncomfortable sense of being squeezed through an elastic tube overwhelms me. "You're home. I trust you can find your way from here? The gate is directly in front of you."

I nod and hear her distinctive snapping noise, meaning she had already disapparated. I sigh.

"Is Master Harry needing any help?" A squeaky voice asks.

"Which one are you?" I ask.

"I is Blinkin."

"Thanks, Blinkin, but I think I can make it to the house from here. I have to try, anyway. I made it yesterday. I can do it today."

"Of course, Master Harry, sir. I is meaning no disrespect."

"However, if you want to stay out here until I get to the door, you're more than welcome to do so." I really just want someone to talk to.

"Winkin will stay. Blinkin should really get to tending the garden, yes he should! Garden is disgraceful! Grass not mown, hedges not trimmed. And Blinkin sees a gnome! For shame!"

I have to stifle a laugh. "Go get 'em, Blinkin."

A higher-pitched squeak then asks, "Can Nod go see to the kitchen, sir? I is trained just for cooking and mending. I not helpful in the garden, and gnomes scares Nod."

"By all means, Nod." I hear her snap her fingers and sense that there is just me and Winkin on the path to the door.

"Master Harry?"

"Yes, Winkin?"

"Is master living here by his self?"

"No, I live with Severus Snape. Once I get inside, I'll introduce him to everyone. I'm sure he'll have some rules that you will all need to follow."

I walk the path in about half the time it took me the day before. I feel a bit proud at the accomplishment. "Winkin?"

"Yes, Master Harry?"

"Could you go get Blinkin and Nod for me?"

"Yes, Master Harry. I is getting them at once."

He snaps away and I step into the house, "Severus! I'm home!"

I hear him call from the lounge, "I can see that."

"I got some elves."

"I thought you were going to get one or two, Harry."

"I know, but they're two brothers and a sister. I didn't feel right about separating them." Three pops announce the arrival of the elves. "Meet Winkin, Blinkin, and Nod."

Severus starts to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

He recites:

_Winkin', Blinkin', and Nod, one night sailed off in a wooden shoe;  
Sailed off on a river of crystal light into a sea of dew.  
"Where are you going and what do you wish?" the old moon asked the three.  
"We've come to fish for the herring fish that live in this beautiful sea.  
Nets of silver and gold have we," said Winkin', Blinkin', and Nod. _

_The old moon laughed and sang a song as they rocked in the wooden shoe.  
And the wind that sped them all night long ruffled the waves of dew.  
Now the little stars are the herring fish that live in that beautiful sea;  
"Cast your nets wherever you wish never afraid are we!"  
So cried the stars to the fishermen three - Winkin', and Blinkin', and Nod._

_So all night long their nets they threw to the stars in the twinkling foam.  
'Til down from the skies came the wooden shoe bringing the fisherman home.  
'Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed as if it could not be.  
Some folks say 'twas a dream they dreamed of sailing that misty sea.  
But I shall name you the fisherman three - Winkin', Blinkin', and Nod._

_Now Winkin' and Blinkin' are two little eyes and Nod is a little head.  
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies is a wee one's trundle bed.  
So close your eyes while mother sings of the wonderful sights that be.  
And you shall see those beautiful things as you sail on the misty sea,  
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three - Winkin', Blinkin', and Nod._

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**A/N:** Seemed like a good place to leave it for now. I'll come back to it when more plot surfaces. I'm pretty sure this will eventually be more than just an unrequited love fic, but I'm not sure how it will pan out from here.

July 15, 2007 : Chapter edited to account for a couple of grammar issues not previously caught.


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